


Second Colony's Last Stand, The

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Canon - Engaging gap-filler, Characters - New interpretation, Drama, War of the Ring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-18
Updated: 2015-04-18
Packaged: 2018-03-23 12:40:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3768950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The last members of Balin's doomed colony in Khazad-dum attempt to cope with their enormous losses, and muster the strength for one final battle.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Second Colony's Last Stand, The

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

Sundin surveyed the situation. The Chamber of Mazarbul was deathly silent, save for the sound of Ori's quill scratching feverishly away on the parchment. Ori was the lone representative of Thorin's Company left. By that distinction alone, he should have been their leader now. But he had caved in under the pressure. He spoke not to the others. For him, there was only his book of records, his diary to no one, into which he poured all of his grief and despair.

The others had no such outlet. Most of them were illiterate. Sundin glanced across the dank chamber and saw in the dim light the forms of Khal and Darak. The former held his head in his hands, his helmet laying upturned at his side. He was shaking. The latter simply glared off into empty space, seeing nothing but his rage and frustration. Then there was Gorn, whose slumped form lay against the tomb of Khazad-dum's dead Lord. Perhaps he was asleep, or perhaps he had simply given up what little life he had left.

Doom. The word rang hollowly in their heads, the echo of the Orcish war drums, the sole remainder of their dreams for the Second Colony. Aye, this motley group was all that remained. The realization hit Sundin like a blow to the skull as he realized how many troops they had lost. Ori, himself, Gorn, Khal and Darak... then Dovin, Ghali and Barum. Eight. Sundin lowered his eyes.

Lord Balin's death had sent things on a downward spiral. The orcs seemed to have sensed that they had struck a blow. They pressed on every front. Balin and the rest had underestimated their numbers. Now casualties racked up. Frar, Loni, Nali... the names and faces were conjured before Sundin's tired eyes. Those three were their backbone. Frar's anecdotes... Loni's good humor... Nali's passion for battle and his ability to muster morale in even the most bleak of situations... all three and their talents were lost.

But even then they had still had Oin. Unlike Ori, he kept his head. He devised a plan. They could escape through the Westgate! The way there was a hard journey, fraught with skirmishes. Many soldiers fell. But all the while they kept their hope. Escape lay ahead! Finally they reached the gate. Oin himself flung it open, and raced out into the open. But something was amiss... Sundin witnessed it all.

Immediately from the still waters shot a tentacle, then a second, then three more. They shot for Oin, grabbed him, and began to suck him under. Sundin was among several who ran to rescue their leader. More tentacles surfaced. Oin's cries disappeared beneath the water. They were driven back. Two more were grabbed and lost. The Watcher took three, and Sundin grudged it for each one. It was hopeless. They fell back, and stumbled back to Mazarbul. Now they were eight.

"We cannot get out, we cannot get out," Ori's mutters could be heard just over the sound of his quill.

Khal's form shook harder. Darak's body seemed to tense.

"We cannot get out!" now Ori practically shouted it, perhaps not even realizing that he was doing so.

Darak sprung up. "Shut up! Shut up!"

Even these impassioned words seemed to glance off of the cold walls of the records chamber harmlessly, without cause or meaning. A complete silence now enveloped the room. Ori put his quill down. Darak slumped back to the floor. He spoke, his voice wracked by suffering.

"Why? Why must the Valar always forsake our folk?"

"Mahal has left us for good," rasped Ghali from the far corner of the room.

"The Valar never existed," spoke Dovin, the youngest left. "It was all a myth."

"Do not say such things!" snapped Gorn, suddenly roused from his stupor.

"What do you expect him to believe, eh?" Darak growled. "They've left us to die here! Either that or they seem to take great pleasure in our suffering."

"It matters not. All is lost," said Barum quietly.

"Aye," Ghali nodded. "All of this debate is pointless."

"This whole expedition was pointless!" shouted Darak. "Every step of it was all for naught! Each laugh we had, when we set off from Erebor, when we entered the mines, when we discovered mithril... they were all wasted breaths! Every step was false! Every promise of Balin's was a lie! We might as well should have flung ourselves off of the Lonely Mountain and gotten things over with!" His voice cracked. Silence.

Darak spoke again, weeping, managing but one sentence. "We've thrown our lives away."

"We can only pray now," said Gorn mournfully.

Now Sundin had listened for long enough. He stood quickly, almost losing his balance from fatigue, but regained his posture and spoke.

"What matter of talk is this from so proud a folk? Pray? We have never been ones for such nonsense! Whether or not the Valar are with us... whether or not they exist, even... it doesn't matter! We cannot rely on invisible spirits! We do things for ourselves! Our fate rests solely in our hands."

"And what should we do with it?" Sundin turned to Darak now, whose jaw was clenched. "Give it up for wasted? Throw it away? We are yet alive, brothers! Blood courses through us. Our hearts beat, our tongues speak, our hands can yet bear arms! These foes that besiege us are but scum! And who are we? We are Mahal's children, mighty before any adversary! Though they surround us on all sides, we have not yet lost!"

Sundin began to continue with his speech when the drums sounded from somewhere deep within the mines. All eight dwarves tensed.

"Drums in the deep! The end comes!" cried Ori, unconsciously writing the words down as he said them, so connected was his writing with his thoughts.

"To arms!" roared Sundin. "We have but one last chance to show the rabble outside these doors our might! Let it count, then! Let us take two score each with us! Let us be remembered by these foul folk! Let them tremble with every mentioning of the Second Colony's last stand!"

Sundin knew not how the others would react to all of his words. He had not had time to gauge their reaction to his first speech when the drums began, and now they had two speeches to digest. He worried that they might still be content to sit and wait for their dooms, but to Sundin's delight, they stood, one at a time, taking up axes and helms. All save Ori, who seemed to still be lost in thought.

The enthusiasm among the others began to build.

"Aye, Sundin! I spoke as a fool," said Darak. "If this is our end, then let it be grand."

"True warriors' deaths!" added Dovin.

"The Greenskins' blood shall coat the walls!" contributed Ghali.

Even Khal, the same Khal who could but weep before from the pain of loss, was on his feet with a determined glare. But Ori remained still. As the others prepared, Sundin approached the seated dwarf.

"Come, Ori. Lead us."

Ori glanced up at Sundin. He was uncertain.

"Do not forget, Ori. Durin's blood is in your veins. You were a member of the greatest group of adventurers that our folk has ever known. Prove yourself worthy! Your axe is still sharp. Put it to use!"

A smile began to appear beneath Ori's beard.

Sundin only encouraged it by placing a steady hand on his shoulder. "I have full faith in you, as do the others."

Ori nodded now. "Let me write but one more thing."

"Of course," Sundin nodded, waiting for Ori to finish the entry. The old dwarf wrote a few more words, put his quill down, and slammed the records book shut, placing it by Balin's tomb.

Ori then stood, taking up his axe, the one that he had claimed in his share of Smaug's horde. The Battle of the Five Armies flashed before his eyes. He remembered Thorin, and Fili, and Kili... their bravery. It inspired him as he marched ahead.

They formed up near the entrance to the chamber. They could hear the orcs approaching now, nearing the door. One pound on the portal. Two pounds. They would enter soon.

Sundin gripped his axe tightly, and glanced to Ori. The leader nodded. A cry rose in his throat.

"Baruk Khazad!"

"Khazad ai-menu!" Responded the others in unison.

Never were the words so passionately uttered as at that time, deep within the cursed Mines of Moria. The orcs outside the door shuddered in horror. But still they mustered the motivation to ram into the portal once more, crashing into the records chamber.

Then, indeed, the axes of the dwarves were truly upon them.

\---

The Second Colony's Last Stand was never recorded in any sort of historical volume. The eight dwarves all fell in time, and the orcs themselves had no historical records to speak of. Besides, those that survived the event refused to speak of it, even though they bore witness to only the conflict's conclusion. Yet they always would remember the piles of orcish bodies before the entrance, the remnants of the first wave that the eight dwarves obliterated with heavy axe blows.

The second and the third units were repulsed as well, as the dwarves staunchly defended their last bit of territory within the Mines. Even when they slew Gorn, the first of the dwarves to perish, the others seemed to increase in strength, making up for their lost comrade. The bearded warriors seemed to be everywhere at once. Confusion and fear broke out in the orcish ranks, but still they pressed on.

One by one the remaining dwarves fell. Young Dovin, moving to protect Ori from an orcish mace, took the blow intended for his leader and crumpled to the floor. Darak took a pike through his throat. Noble Sundin, who stayed at the front of the line the entire battle, was knocked to the ground and trampled and stabbed. And Ori, now the leader that he had never before managed to be, kept his troops steady at their positions until he himself was cut down.

With Ori's death finally came a breakthrough for the Greenskins. The three remaining dwarves fell back, still protecting Balin's tomb from all comers. Down went Khal, down went Ghali. Barum stood alone against the far wall. Barum, a simple infantryman who had done little to distinguish himself in his many years of service to Erebor's army. But now came Barum's finest moment.

The orcs smelled victory, and moved in on the lone remaining dwarf. But to their shock and horror, he did not yield, did not so much as tremble, only stood with his axe at the ready, inviting them to approach. One orc lost his nerve, and leapt at the dwarf. The axe flashed in the darkness, and the orc's head fell several feet behind its body. More came. Barum's axe shot out again, and they were dead. The Greenskins finally plunged into an all-out attack. Barum slashed madly at all who dared near him. The same dwarf who had but a short time ago declared all to be lost now fought with unbridled passion. He fought for all of the Second Colony, a bright gleam shining in his eyes. Blood and limbs flew all about him, dying shrieks echoed throughout the chamber. Finally, an orc managed to penetrate the storm of the dwarf's axe. It speared the dwarf in the gut, but not before its throat was sliced open. Down Barum went, and the orcs converged upon him.

No one else was there to witness this last heroic stand, however. Not another soul saw how a group of eight could destroy unit after unit of orcs by their collective ironclad will alone. Ori's writings in the book of records only convey a sense of the horror that came in those days and hours leading up to the final battle. All of his entries, that is, save his final sentence, the one that he wrote just before joining Sundin and the rest at the entrance to the chamber:

"They are coming."

Often it is misinterpreted as a final statement of dread, a sentence written with a trembling hand and a fearful heart. However, Ori wrote these words with no such feelings. He recorded them with a smile upon his face, with a newfound sense of confidence and purpose.

Ori knew that the orcs were coming, and he was prepared to face them.


End file.
